By Charles David
Introduction
We hear about the Middle East almost daily — war, politics, explosions, death. But what we don’t hear enough about are the ordinary people caught in between: the parents trying to comfort their children during sirens, the kids playing in rubble, the grandparents wishing for peace before it’s too late.
Life on the Israel-Gaza border is rarely shown through the eyes of those who live it every day. I wanted to understand what that life really feels like — not as a journalist chasing headlines, but as a human being seeking stories. What I found wasn’t what I expected.
The Israeli Mother Who Taught Her Son to Sleep Through Sirens
In Sderot, a small town near the Gaza border, I met Yael, a mother of three. Her youngest, Noam, is four years old. “He knows what a rocket is,” she told me. “He calls the bomb shelter our ‘little cave.”
She told me about their game: when a siren goes off, they pretend they’re on a treasure hunt — racing to the shelter in under 15 seconds. “It’s the only way I could stop him from crying at night,” she said. Her voice trembled. She smiled anyway.
The Gaza Father Who Sells Candies to Feed His Family
Just a few kilometers away — but an entire world apart — I met Omar, a street vendor in Gaza City. His candy stand is set up outside a destroyed building. “Children still love sweets,” he said with a shrug. “It’s one thing I can give them.”
He showed me photos of his home before it collapsed during a strike two years ago. He now lives in a cramped apartment with nine other family members. “We live, we love, we laugh,” he said. “That’s all we can do.”
A Wedding in a War Zone
I’ll never forget the bride I saw walking through a debris-strewn alley in Gaza, wearing a white dress with sneakers. Her family had built a canopy of bedsheets over an empty courtyard, decorated with balloons and borrowed string lights.
On the other side of the border, Israeli teens danced at a coming-of-age party in a fortified room. I watched them laugh like any other kids in the world — because that’s what they are. Just kids.
What Both Sides Told Me
No matter which side I was on, I heard the same words over and over:
“We’re tired.”
“We just want peace.”
“We want our children to live.”
There is trauma, yes. But also resilience. And dignity. These people are not enemies — they’re neighbors separated by fear, politics, and pain.
Final Thoughts
This story is not about politics. It’s about people.
I’m not here to pick sides — I’m here to tell stories. And the story is this: whether you’re a mother in Sderot or a father in Gaza, your biggest wish is the same — to see your child grow up safe.
